


Until All These Shivers Subside

by salacious_crumpet



Series: Fire Meet Detonite [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Outdoor Sex, Prequel, Romance, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 21:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16103915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salacious_crumpet/pseuds/salacious_crumpet
Summary: A one-shot look at a moment shared between Imperial Cipher agent Miranza Gerrick and Joiner diplomat Vector Hyllus, early in their relationship. (Spoilers for the end of Part 2 of SWTOR's Imperial Agent storyline.)





	Until All These Shivers Subside

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a shitty few days, so here, have some character-driven smut. *throws glitter and disappears*

_“Run.”_

Her own words, torn loose from a mouth that had been kept gagged – metaphorically, if perhaps not literally – for far too long echoed loudly in her own ears. As she ran, racing after Vector as he cleared the path with his electrostaff and his superior strength, the word played over and over again in her mind.

Run. Run run run run run. _Runrunrunrunrun._

She could do nothing less. To disobey that one imperative would be to die, mere minutes after finally freeing herself from months of imprisonment. It was untenable. It was unbearable.

She was not going to die on this foul, toxin-riddled planet.

Miranza Gerrick burst loose from the Shadow Arsenal, her companion throwing the doors open ahead of them both just as the first bombers began their aerial strike high overhead.

Her lungs were on fire. No amount of cardio could prepare you for a desperate race against time and aerial bombardment.

A droid – one of the massive units that patrolled the grounds outside the Shadow Arsenal facility – swerved into their path. Vector, with barely a break in his stride, lashed out with his electrostaff, a controlled strike that connected with one of the droid’s heavy cortosis legs. The limb buckled at the joint and the droid collapsed, still attempting to fire its blasters in Miranza’s direction. A second blow from the staff crushed the blaster against the droid’s durasteel plating and rendered the extension unusable, and the droid ground to a halt, servos clattering as it struggled to right itself.

Miranza ignored the burning in her lungs and the ache of bruising in her limbs from her fight with Ardun Kothe. The Jedi-turned-SIS chief was gone, dead or dying or escaped, she didn’t care although she knew Vector had wanted her to save the man. Kothe had imprisoned her – _enslaved_ her, for all that he’d professed to find it distasteful – and in the end he’d tried to kill her, and yet she’d still tried to spare him, just for the Joiner’s sake.

Vector Hyllus was proving to be a bad influence on her. Her trainers and handlers would laugh at the idea of her – Miranza Gerrick, Cipher Nine, codenamed Legate – granting an enemy mercy. It wasn’t part of her training, but ever since the Joiner had – no pun intended – joined her crew he’d become her conscience, that nagging voice of reason that cautioned against taking the pragmatic approach. She wanted to find that annoying, wanted to find him annoying, but stars, the man was anything but.

At present, what Vector _was_ was motivational. He ran, all-out, long legs pumping, electrostaff spinning from one hand to the other as he warded off potential threats. He was faster than her – faster, stronger, tougher, _better_ – but he kept to a pace she could manage, one that challenged her and encouraged her to keep up, to prove to him that she _could._ Miranza had the sense that, if she were to fall behind, Vector would not be abandoning her on Quesh. If the Imperial bombardment took her out, he would die with her, the two of them alone and forgotten on this toxic dump of a planet.

She was not letting that man die. Not here, not now.

Miranza grit her teeth against the pain and pushed herself harder.

Behind them an explosion rocked the ground, hard enough that Miranza stumbled and would have fallen had Vector not caught her by the arm and hauled her upright again. His grip was strong, tight enough that she would have bruises later: a man who, despite having been Joined for some time now, still didn’t know his own strength. She knew he would apologize for it later (if there was a later), as if he could somehow be blamed for keeping her alive.

Vector didn’t release her. Instead he kept his tight grip on her arm, just above her wrist, and used it to pull her along like a recalcitrant child who’d begun dragging her heels. His strength fed hers and she allowed herself to be propelled forward, ahead of the bombs that struck the facility behind them, ahead of danger and death and destruction.

“Come on, Agent!” he called to her, voice raised to be heard over the explosions. “Just a little bit further!”

_Just a little bit further,_ Miranza repeated to herself. She could make it. She could do this.

It was Vector who tripped, then, just as Miranza’s resolve had been strengthened. She saw him go down but didn’t see the reason for it – a turned ankle, a dip in the pavement, some debris in his path – and saw him land hard, staff clattering a few paces away, hands scraping across the duracrete path. He released her as he fell, even in his distress too mindful to bring her down with him, and she skidded to a halt beside him. He was tall, easily more than a foot taller than her and with a strong, athletic build that spoke of lean muscles, and yet she reached down and hauled him back to his feet as though he weighed nothing at all. She saw his eyes widen in surprise, those all-black depths that had been so strange and alien when they’d first met but which had become increasingly dear to her as the days had passed.

“Come on, Vector!” she said, parroting his words back to him. “It’s just a little bit further!”

He smiled, then, and let her tug him along.

Her ears were ringing and every nerve was a-jangle with tension and fear as the two of them broke past the opened doors of the Shadow Arsenal compound. She quickly veered off-course, away from the road where they would be all too easily spotted by Hunter or someone whose strings Hunter pulled. The earth still shook beneath her feet, the air thick with smoke as well as the usual toxic stench that clung to the planet’s surface. She made it past a duracrete blockade, stumbling around the waist-high barriers before her footing gave way – and then she was tumbling down a steep embankment, the world spinning around her as she rolled down the side of a hill into a ditch.

When she finally landed – feet just barely skirting a pool of unnaturally green run-off, the contents of which were perhaps best left unexamined – she was on her back, staring up at the red-tinged sky overhead. The breath was knocked out of her but she felt an irresistible urge to laugh. Or cry. Perhaps a bit of both.

Both. It was both. The laughter bubbled up in her, breathless and raspy with the smoke she’d inhaled during their flight from the facility, and when she gave into it she found herself laughing, crying and hiccuping in equal measure. Oh, stars, it hurt to laugh and doing so while lying on her back sent her into a fit of coughing that only made the sobbing worse, and before long she was a coughing, gasping, choking mess. She could feel the swampy ground beneath her, soaking her trousers and the thick leatheris jacket she’d worn, and no doubt the mud was getting in her hair and oh stars she didn’t even _care,_ how could she care when they were _alive?_ They were alive and she was free and stars she couldn’t make herself stop.

“Agent?” Vector was peering down at her; at some point he’d made his own – much more decorous and deliberate – way down the hill. He looked anxious, and while she couldn’t be certain she thought he was scanning her in search of injuries. A bump to the head, perhaps, to explain her sudden burst of hysteria.

“We’re alive, Vector,” Miranza managed to gasp out between hiccuping sobs. Another swell of laughter escaped her, high and shrill in her still-ringing ears, and she repeated herself, unable to disguise her elation: “Vector, we’re _alive!”_

“So we are, Agent,” he replied, sounding somewhat dubious. He went down on one knee, gentle hands cupping her face, tracing the curve of her skull. He was so, so cautious, and at first she thought he was being tender – affectionate, even, perhaps caught up in the same ebullience that overwhelmed her – but then she realized he was checking her for injuries. A blow to the head would surely explain her behaviour.

“I’m fine, Vector,” she said, willing him to believe her. And she was. She was fine. She was free.

She was fucking _free._

She didn’t know what possessed her – perhaps the touch of his hands on her face, perhaps the exultation of surviving something desperate and terrible and protracted, perhaps simply the adrenaline still singing through her body – but before she could think too long on the impulse, Miranza reached up and curled her fingers through the collar of Vector’s shirt, tugging him down. He collapsed on top of her with a startled _“oof!”_ but, seeing the expression on her face or maybe something in her aura, he made no effort to pull away. Instead he pushed himself up on his elbows, taking his weight off her chest, and smiled down at her.

“Agent,” he said softly, then tried again: “Miranza?”

“I really want to kiss you right now,” she said. Fuck it: they hadn’t died. It was time to throw caution to the wind.

His confused expression cleared, giving way to hope and – dare she suggest it? – delight. He leaned forward, face so close to hers she could feel his breath against her skin, but he let her clear the distance between them.

Miranza had been expecting … well, she’d thought Vector would be shy. Insecure. Uncertain. So often when they spoke he only demonstrated confidence within his own specific field – diplomacy, culture, society – and she had always been the instigator of any flirtation between them. She’d known he was interested, but the cautious, reserved approach he’d taken with her had led her to assume he was less sexually experienced, less familiar with the dance that she had been trained in from her earliest days at the academy.

Miranza discovered, to her own growing delight, that Vector Hyllus knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

She instigated the kiss, moved those last few centimetres to brush her lips against his. She began it, but oh, the moment their lips touched Vector took possession, his hands cradling her head as though she were something precious, something to be treasured, and there wasn’t even a trace of hesitancy in the way his mouth claimed hers. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft, his mouth hungry as he bent her back into the ground, her head cupped in his hands to keep her out of the mud. Her own hands wandered, going first to those strong shoulders, then down his back – she grew frustrated with the armour and clothing that prevented her from feeling the smooth planes of muscle that she just _knew_ were there – until finally resting at his hips. The tip of his tongue licked over her lower lip until she opened her mouth enough to grant him entry, and he made some noise – something ragged and almost feral – as he curled over her, the long, lean lines of his body pressing down against hers.

After what somehow seemed to be both an eternity and nowhere near long enough he pulled away, and for a brief instant she thought she’d crossed a line that he would now retreat behind again, so to begin their dance again – or to cease their flirtations entirely.

Instead she found him studying her, his expression a mixture of wonder and faint amusement.

Vector laughed, breath a soft puff of air against her cheek. “This is not quite how we imagined this scenario.”

“Oh, you imagined this, did you?” Miranza tried for a coy, arch tone, but inside she thrilled at the realization that he had been fantasizing about her just as she had been fantasizing about him. It amazed her a little, that she had gone from being faintly unsettled by his presence – Kaliyo had made no secret of her dislike for him, of how much his Joiner nature bothered her, and if Miranza was being honest with herself she too had found his condition disquieting and unnatural. Somehow, that odd, alien stranger with his fathomless black eyes and poetic cadences had gone from being an unwanted and unwelcome member of her crew, foisted upon her by Imperial Intelligence without any say-so from her, to being this dear, desirable man who she rather desperately wanted to keep by her side at all times.

“We did,” he admitted, chuckling faintly, “but we must confess, we imagined rather less mud and far fewer explosions.”

It was her turn to laugh, and if the sound managed to somehow be both breathy and breathless, well, she blamed it on all the running, and certainly not on any amount of nerves on her part. She was the accomplished seductress here; he was supposed to be helpless prey in her arms. That was the way these things usually went with all the men and women she’d been with before, whether in the interests of Imperial security or simply because she’d had an itch she needed to scratch.

This was, she realized, something much more than just an _itch._

His expression sobered. “This is not … This is not what we wanted for you.”

Miranza frowned, a small pit opening up in her stomach. Had she crossed a line here? A line Vector had not wanted crossed? “Do you not want …?” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“We do,” he reassured her, releasing the words in a rush. One hand came up to brush at her face. “We want you very much. You deserve better, however, than here in the mud on Quesh. And we do not …” He hesitated, the corners of his mouth pulling down as he sought for the right words to express himself. For once it seemed his poetic speech failed him, and he floundered a little before finally saying, “If this is simply the result of your newfound freedom – a rush of gratitude and affection brought on merely through our proximity at such a momentous occasion – we do not wish to take advantage. We do not wish you to … regret.”

Normally this would be the moment when Miranza would smile coquettishly and maybe bat her eyelashes or arch her hips upward against the body that was bent over hers. This was a dance she knew well, one she had mastered the steps and rhythms of long ago. Instead she found herself seriously considering his words and the weight that he placed on them, asking herself if what he said was true, if the only reason she was responding to him so strongly now was because the two of them had just survived aerial bombardment and she had just freed herself from the Castellan restraints. Would any warm body suffice, in the here and now? Or was it him that called up this intense rush of desire and want?

She already knew the answer to that question, and it terrified her. Stars, when had this man, this Joiner known as Vector Hyllus – that strange alien diplomat – taken up such a firm place within her heart?

With any other would-be lover she would answer him with a smile, a kiss, and her hands on his body, drawing him back down. Instead, because this was Vector and she knew he needed to hear her speak the words, she brought her hands up from his hips to frame his face and said, voice soft but firm and with an honesty she seldom had need to employ, “I’m not going to regret this, Vector. I want you. We can wait, if you want. I can wait however long you need, but it’s _you_ I want, and it’s not the location or the … the timing that makes this perfect. It’s _you.”_

He bit his lip – stars, she wanted to do that for him, _to_ him – and hung his head, strands of dark hair falling in his face. In all the fighting and their hurried race from the Shadow Arsenal facility his hair had become a tumbled, tousled mess, rain and sweat and mud stripping it free of the product he normally used to keep it slicked back. She longed to run her hands through it, to feel the silken strands against her skin.

Vector made that noise again – that feral, ragged noise – and then his lips were upon hers and his body was pressing hers into the ground. She could feel the cold damp under her and knew her clothes and armour were going to be stained with mud and stars, she didn’t care so long as he would just keep doing this …

She gave into the urge to run her fingers through his hair, carding her hands through the straight dark locks before fisting the strands and using her grip to pull his head in closer. He made a sound that fell somewhere between a groan and a whimper as he crashed his lips against hers, his mouth far more insistent this second time around. She felt his tongue stroke against her lips and opened her mouth, inviting him in as his hands went from her face to her hips before finally sliding around under her ass to tug her body in tight against his.

His knee wedged its way between her legs, forcing her to part them, and she found herself writhing under him, grinding against the hard muscles of his thigh. He smelled of smoke and violence and tasted like honey and spices, and the body that pressed down against hers was warm and hard.

“Oh, stars,” she gasped out as his mouth left a wet line of kisses down her throat. He nipped at her ear before continuing downwards, to the juncture of neck and shoulder. Teeth worried at the skin over her collarbone, and when he bit her hard enough she was certain it would leave marks she gasped again and ground her hips against his.

Her hands left his hair, sliding down over his back – she let out a frustrated huff at the layers of armour and clothing that prevented her from finding bare skin to touch – to his ass. She tightened her grip, rocking her body against his, his thigh between her legs providing a constant pressure that was almost _exactly_ where she needed it. She didn’t regret doing this here and now, as unromantic as Quesh was; her only regret was that she couldn’t strip him down and see every inch of that beautiful tanned skin. Her imagination lately had painted a very precise image of him and she rather desperately wanted to see how reality compared to fantasy. Normally she found reality rather lacking, but in this instance she suspected Vector would far surpass anything she had pictured.

“Stars, you’re beautiful,” Miranza murmured. Vector made a strangled sound against the hollow of her throat before heaving himself upwards to capture her lips again. This time around his mouth was desperate and uncoordinated, as if her quiet declaration had robbed him of the self-control necessary for finesse. There was something about that hungry desperation that left her breathless and aching, her heart pounding hard inside her chest.

As much as she may have wanted to the thought of stripping out of pants and underwear was better left to fantasy – there were some places she did not want to find mud – and so Miranza had to make do with grinding herself against him. Muddy sex was only good in certain controlled instances, where the mud in question wasn’t likely riddled with toxins and parasites, and where there wasn’t the risk of dangerous wildlife and equally dangerous Republic soldiers happening upon them at any moment. With that being said, there was something about the danger – about the threat of being found – that heightened the excitement, combining with the adrenaline and exultation Miranza was already feeling since their desperate flight from the compound.

“We want,” he gasped into her mouth, and she reached down, sliding her hand between them to cup his groin. When he groaned again she managed to slip her hand inside his pants, finding him hot and hard in her grasp. Vector gave a fully-body shiver and kissed her harder, tongue plundering her mouth, his own hands struggling with the fastenings of the belt at her waist. Then suddenly her belt snapped loose and she felt him stroking her through her panties and it was her turn to groan.

In a sudden burst of motion Vector was on his feet, pulling Miranza up with him. At first she thought he was having second thoughts but then he hoisted her up in the air, swinging her around so that she was facing him, his hands guiding her legs around his waist. By the Force, he was _strong;_ he carried her wrapped around him as though she weighed nothing, hands cupped under her ass as he staggered the short distance up out of the ditch towards the wall of the Shadow Arsenal compound. He pressed her up against the wall, duracrete supporting her back and his hands still supporting her legs, and kissed her, hard and needy.

“We want,” he began again, then frowned, trying to collect himself. “We didn’t think to bring … That is, we don’t have …”

Taking pity on him, Miranza said, “I’m clean. Intelligence has me tested regularly and I’m on mandatory birth control.” She didn’t particularly want to explain that – that Imperial Intelligence couldn’t risk its assets getting knocked up during the course of an assignment, nor did their handlers want their agents leaving behind a bevy of bastard children throughout the galaxy – but Vector seemed to understand without her needing to go into the nitty-gritty details. Then again he’d always had a stronger grasp on the nature of her work than she’d given him credit for. Perhaps Intelligence and the Imperial Diplomatic Services shared some similarities in their approach to field work?

He made a face before admitting, “It has been … well, it has been rather a long while for us, but we are clean as well.”

By way of answer Miranza unhooked her legs from around his waist and stood, quickly shucking her pants down to her knees. It was undignified and ungraceful but she couldn’t care about that now, not with him right there and his mouth on hers again. She’d never been particularly big on public sex but this barely counted: there was no one around, and while she had no doubt the Empire or the Republic or possibly both would be sending someone to investigate the destruction of the facility she was confident they would have enough time to finish … whatever it was they had started.

“You are certain you want this?” he asked her, and although she couldn’t be sure she thought she felt his eyes searching her face. She wondered what his strange Killik-enhanced vision showed him, what he saw in her aura. She knew what she was feeling and she did her best to show it on her face, hoping it shone through to whatever second sight he possessed.

“I want _you,_ Vector,” she replied, hoping he understood the subtle emphasis.

Vector smiled then, a smile like the sun bursting through the clouds, and when he kissed her it was with such depth and passion that it literally took her breath away and left her gasping. His hand came up, cradling her head against the duracrete wall while his other hand remained fastened to the curve of her hip, keeping her up off the ground. Miranza allowed herself to become lost in that kiss, in the warmth of his lips and tongue, the honeyed spice of his mouth, the way it felt like he poured himself into her, his love and affection filling every starved crevice of her soul. She’d had many lovers over the years but none had ever made her feel as cherished as this strange, beautiful man made her feel.

He took her, or they took each other, hard and fast up against the wall. He kept one hand behind her head, protecting her from bouncing her skull off the wall with each rapid thrust, his other hand clinging desperately to her ass as though that grip was the only thing keeping him grounded. Her own hands found purchase in his clothes, tugging at the lines of his coat, smoothing over the hard surface of his armour as she sought to find an opening where she could reach bare skin. He nipped and sucked at her mouth, biting her lips, his tongue tracing patterns over her jaw and down her throat. Their coupling was hard and fast and rough, and she was so pent up and on edge after their race to safety that in no time at all she was coming, stars bursting behind her eyelids, her voice gone hoarse with passion-filled cries she hadn’t even heard herself make. She felt him finish, his hips giving a few harsh, stuttering jerks before he gasped out something that was no doubt beautiful and poetic but that was nonetheless lost to the dazed ringing in her ears.

When he pulled back there was something searching in Vector’s face, his strange dark eyes meeting hers.

“Your aura burns like a thousand stars,” Vector murmured in wondering tones. “We’ve never witnessed anything more radiant.”

_Who even_ says _things like that?_ Miranza wondered, amazed and besotted almost in spite of herself. Had anyone else uttered such words she would have laughed in their face, but with Vector somehow the sentiment was the perfect mixture of poetry and rapture. She kissed him, hard enough that their teeth clacked together, and his arms encircled her, drawing her body in close and keeping her safe.

Miranza felt as though she could stay like that forever, held within the warmth of Vector Hyllus’s strong arms. Too soon, however, she became aware of their surroundings: the humid air against the bare skin of her legs, the mud staining her back and in her hair, the stench of the nearby swamp and the smoke from the ruins they had fled. They needed to head back to her ship, back to where Kaliyo and the others would be waiting. For a brief moment she worried about the Rattataki’s reaction – Kaliyo had never held back on her opinions of Vector – but then Miranza realized the other woman would probably just be thrilled to know that she had gotten laid. Doctor Lokin and Ensign Temple’s responses were unknowable to her; she suspected the doctor would be quietly supportive, but she hadn’t spent nearly enough time with their newest recruit to know what Raina might think. Ultimately it didn’t matter: she and Vector were adults and she had faith in their ability to remain professional outside of whatever … this … was.

Was it love? It felt too soon to say for certain. She was fond of Vector, she knew that much. More than fond, really. She’d been charmed by him from the start, even if she’d initially found his Joiner nature somewhat unnerving. He was smart – smarter than her – and cultured and genuinely kind, with a decency and concern for sentient life that was difficult to find in Intelligence work. He made her want to be a better person, and stars, _that_ was a terrifying thought. Whether this sudden need for physical contact was born out of their adrenaline-fueled escape or the result of her newfound freedom – or maybe it was just Killik pheromones – she didn’t know, but what Miranza _did_ know was that she regretted nothing. If anything, she wanted more of this, more of _him._

“We should get back to the ship,” he said softly, unconsciously echoing her thoughts. He smiled, the fingers of one hand brushing over the curve of her jaw and trailing down the side of her neck. She arched into the touch, wanting more, but he pulled away and bent, helping her draw her pants back up her legs and fastening the belt for her.

“We should probably take a shower,” she replied. She left her tone deliberately light and flirty, letting him pick up on the not-so-subtle suggestion underneath. _Together_ was left unspoken, but when he arched one dark eyebrow and his smile became something predatory she knew he understood.

“We should,” he agreed simply. He reached out a hand to her and after only the briefest moment of hesitation she accepted it. His fingers, long and elegant and warm, threaded through hers, the rough calluses of his palm brushing against her own.

Up ahead some distance away there was a Republic outpost, just a small camp with a medical services droid, some cargo crates and a taxi stand where speeders could be rented. Neither of them had any credits on them, of course; this hadn’t been that sort of job. She doubted very much that her Republic credentials would hold up now that she had parted ways with Ardun Kothe and the rest of the SIS, but the Imperial waystation was much further away and now that the rush of adrenaline was fading she was becoming increasingly aware of how sore and exhausted she was. The thought of hiking all the way back to the Imperial base made her want to cry.

Vector looked at her, then raised his chin to stare meaningfully toward the Republic outpost. Something wicked and mischievous played across his face, and Miranza’s heart kicked into overdrive at the sight.

“We don’t suppose you know how to hotwire a speeder, do you?” he mused out loud.

Miranza squeezed his hand and laughed. Vector squeezed back. Side by side, their hands still linked, they left the ruins of the Shadow Arsenal behind and made their way to an unmanned Republic outpost to steal a pair of speeders.

**Author's Note:**

> Story title comes from a line in the song "Try Not to Breathe" by R.E.M. The album "Automatic for the People" was on near-constant repeat for about a year back when I was a teenager. I don't think there's a single song I didn't love on that album, but this song in particular always spoke to me. I was glad to be able to use it for Vector and Miranza.
> 
> One thing I've always appreciated about the relationship between the F!Imperial Agent and Vector Hyllus was the fact that it didn't really begin until both of them had worked their shit out. She frees herself from the Castellan restraints, he successfully negotiates a treaty between the Killiks and the Empire _and_ actively works at harmonizing his human/Killik sides. They're just so _adult_ about this relationship, and I'm kind of glad they waited. With that being said, I absolutely headcanon that Vector and Miranza hooked up long before it happens in game-canon, and after replaying the Agent storyline again for about the hundredth time the part on Quesh where they're escaping the Shadow Arsenal - and she's finally free from brainwashing - struck me as just about the perfect moment for them to finally do the do. I wanted to capture that elation and excitement and the way that adrenaline and passion sort of overwhelm you in the moment. So here you have it, muddy gross sex on Quesh. Try not to think about it too much.


End file.
